Statistically speaking, the average person tells three lies per ten minutes conversation. And granted, just regular people. We haven’t studied people planning to fire-bomb a black church. Could skew differently.

This conversation is bound to turn up. Two guys in a street meet each other, and one of them says, “Hey, did you hear? Phil Davis died.” “Phil Davis? I just saw him yesterday.” “Yeah? … Didn’t help. He died anyway. Apparently, the simple act of you seeing him did not slow his cancer down. In fact, it may have made it more aggressive. You know, you could be the cause for Phil’s death. How do you live with yourself?”

In a book, all would have gone according to plan…. but life was so fucking untidy – what could you say for an existence where some of your most crucial conversations of your life took place when you needed to take a shit, or something? An existence where there weren’t even any chapters?